LITTLE JO. 165
��LITTLE
WHAT will the birds do, mother, this spring The little brown birds that come to the door? Will they tap on the window or hop on the step, Asking why little Jo wanders out nevermore ?
What will the kitten do, mother, alone ?
Will she stop in her frolics a day, Or lie on the rug by the side of my bed,
As she did when I once went away?
And Tiger ! Oh, mother, love Tiger for me, For I know he will mourn for me true ;
So keep him when idle and useless he grows, Sleeping all the long summer day through ;
And show him my coat, so he will not forget Little master, who then will be dead ;
And speak to him softly and often of " Jo," Stroking slowly his shaggy black head.
And what will old Thomas the gardener say When they ask for white blossoms for me ?
Will he gather the rose he has tended so long, The first fairest bloom on the tree ?
I have seen the tears come in his honest old eyes, Though he told me the wind brought them there ;
As he looked at my cheek growing thinner each day. While his hand trembled over my hair.
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